The Pool of St. Branok

The Diary

WE WERE AT BREAKFAST next morning—my mother, Timothy, Janet and I. My mother had been glancing through the morning papers.

“Here is something that will interest you?” she said. “This is a real scandal sheet. It’s about Benedict Lansdon. It could mean that he is getting on so well in Manorleigh that he has got some people worried. It is scandalous the way they are allowed to print such things.”

“What do they say about him?”

She took up the paper and read: “ ‘Benedict Lansdon, charismatic candidate for Manorleigh, is creating quite an impression. It seems he is leaping ahead of his rivals. He is indefatigable … here, there and everywhere dispensing charm in exchange for the promise of votes. It is prophesied that for the first time in many, many years the seat will change hands. Benedict Lansdon has had a spectacular career before taking up politics. He is a golden millionaire—one of the few who struck lucky in Australia. Benedict’s luck came to him through his marriage which brought him the mine containing rich veins of gold. Mrs. Elizabeth Lansdon appears at all functions with her husband, but who is the elegant third? I can tell you. It is Mrs. Grace Hume, daughter-in-law of Matthew Hume, Cabinet Minister in the last Tory administration. Mrs. Grace is a staunch supporter of the party in opposition to her father-in-law. Rather a storm in the family teacup? Perhaps, but Mrs. Grace gives her fervent loyalty to candidate Benedict. It is Mrs. Grace who speaks to the press. Mrs. Elizabeth’s lips are sealed. Why does she appear with the sad look on her face? Is she worried about her husband’s chances with the Manorleigh voters? That seems to be rather unnecessary as things are going. Or perhaps is it because the elegant and ardent supporter of her husband should be such an intimate member of the household?’ ”

I felt myself growing more and more angry as my mother read on.

“What a horrible suggestion!” she said, laying down the paper. “Grace is only trying to help Lizzie. Poor Lizzie, what must she think?”

“I wonder what Ben thinks about it,” I said.

“Oh, he’d shrug it off. But it is very hurtful to Lizzie and Grace.”

“I always thought,” said Janet, “from what I have heard of Benedict Lansdon that he must be a very attractive man.”

“Did you know he is some sort of distant relation of ours?” asked my mother. “You’ve met Amaryllis and Peter. Well, Benedict is Peter’s grandson. It was a love affair before his marriage. Apparently Peter always looked after the family.”

Janet looked disapproving.

“Yes,” went on my mother. “It was irregular. Somehow people forgive Peter his indiscretions, don’t they, Angelet?”

I nodded.

“And he has done so much for the Mission. They wouldn’t have been half as successful there without him. Their activities could not have been so widespread. I’d like to know what Peter thinks of these paragraphs.”

“So you think they will affect Ben’s chances of getting the seat?” I asked.

Timothy said: “No. I shouldn’t think so for a moment. There is a good deal of this sort of thing going on at election time. I think people don’t take too much notice of it.”

I was thoughtful. I was shocked at the suggestion and scarcely listened to their comment. I was thinking of Lizzie, so inadequate, so scared of what had been thrust upon her, trying to face all those people; and of Grace who was able to talk to them with charm and efficiency.

Grace and Ben! Could there really be anything in the suggestion? Most women would admire Ben and it was a long time since Grace had become a widow. Lizzie had turned to Grace. Had Ben, too?

I thought then how foolish I was. I had had an offer of marriage and a peaceful life from a man whom I could trust and I was refusing it because of my feelings for someone who was out of reach and, in any case, of whom I should always be unsure.

My mother and I returned to London with Rebecca. The Ransomes were very reluctant for us to go. They came to the door to say goodbye as the carriage arrived to take us to the station. Fiona and Alec waved frantically. Janet said: “You must come again … soon.” Timothy was coming to the station with us and Fanny stood looking at me reproachfully. Rebecca burst into tears which was the most effective way of saying she had enjoyed the visit. We could only pacify her by telling her that we should be coming again soon.

At the station Timothy pressed my hand and said: “I shall see you at the Mission on Wednesday.” And we said goodbye.

On the way home my mother eulogized about their being such a charming family and how pleased my father would be to hear the result of our visit. She did look at me with slight reproach I knew because there had not been an announcement of my engagement to Timothy and they all gleaned that it was my fault.

So I traveled back to London between a tearful daughter and a rather disappointed mother; and I told myself once more that I had been foolish not to fall in with what everyone seemed to think was an excellent plan.

But there was still time.

The next night we were invited to the house in the square; and to my surprise Ben was there. Lizzie was not with him. She was resting, he said. Grace was with her.

I said: “I did not expect to see you. Shouldn’t you be charming votes out of the voters of Manorleigh?”

“There is time before polling day,” he said.

At dinner Uncle Peter talked about the piece in the paper. He waved it aside. “Just malicious gossip,” he said. “It shows they’re rattled, Ben, looking for stuff like that.”

After dinner when the men joined us in the drawing room, Ben made a point of coming over to me.

“I must talk to you, Angel,” he said.

“Well? Talk.”

“Not here. Could we meet somewhere?”

“What is it you have to tell me, Ben?”

“Let’s meet. Shall we say in the Park? Kensington Gardens … in the flower garden.”

“Do you think we should?”

“We must. Tomorrow, ten thirty.”

“But …”

“Please, Angel. I shall expect you.”

I slept little that night. I lay awake wondering what he would say to me.

I found him waiting impatiently. He rose as I approached and, taking both my hands firmly in his, drew me to a seat.

“What is it Ben? What’s happened?”

“It’s this Timothy Ransome.”

“What of him?”

“You have been visiting his house … with your mother.”

“Well, what of it?”

“It is rather significant that he should invite you with your mother. It seems to me that it is for one purpose. Have you promised to marry him?”

“No, I have not and, Ben, I don’t see …”

“That it is my business? It is my business, Angel. I love you. You and I were meant for each other.”

“But you are married to Lizzie.”

“That was because …”

“You don’t have to explain. I know only too well. You didn’t love Lizzie, but you loved what she could bring you. You knew there was gold on her father’s land and that was the only way you could get it. You did try to buy it at first, I know … I grant you that.”

“Stop it,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand, too well. I was there, remember.”

“It is all in the past.”

“But the effect is with us still.”

“I love you. I want you … you only. More than anything I want you. You were married to Gervaise. Life was cruel to us both. It was always too late. And now you are proposing to marry again. First you were married to Gervaise. Then I was married to Lizzie …”

“You are still married to Lizzie.”

“She might divorce me.”

“Divorce you? On what grounds? I remember you suggested that Gervaise and I might divorce. It seems to be a ready solution for you.”

“It is a solution.”

“Never. Think of your political career. Would you stifle it at birth?”

“I would do anything if we could be together.”

“Ben, you are being rather rash.”

“What I want to say to you is … wait. Don’t rush into this. Oh, I know he is a worthy man … full of virtue and good works … as I could never be. But could he love you as I do?”

“I really don’t think you should be talking like this.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I know that we are meant for each other. We shared that … incident together. It bound us to each other in some way. I should never have gone away. Oh … isn’t it illuminating? One can look back and see where one has gone wrong all along the line. I should have stayed with you then … until you were well. I should never have gone back to London. I should never have gone to Australia. I think it was something to do with that … which made me want to go. It was on my conscience too, Angel. I thought I would get right away. You see, you were only a child then. Had you been older, I should have known … and then, as soon as I saw you again, I did know but you were married to Gervaise then.”

“It is no use going over it. We are where we are today and that means that you are married to Lizzie. I am sure she loves you devotedly. She brought you what you wanted … the mine … money … power. It was what you had always aimed for. People have to pay for the things they want.”

“But such a price, Angel.”

“Remember the miners … the story you liked so much. They thought they need not go on paying and look what happened to them.”

“That is a legend. It has nothing to do with our case.”

“You can compare them,” I said. “Listen to me, Ben. You have a great deal. You have a career which you will enjoy. It stretches out ahead of you. Perhaps it is not everything you want … but it is a great deal.”

And I was thinking: I have Timothy. It is not everything I want … because I want Ben; but it is a great deal.

“I’ll never give up hope,” he said. “Have you promised to marry him?”

“No,” I answered.

“I thank God for that.”

“You have become very pious suddenly, Ben.”

“Don’t joke. This is too serious a matter.”

“How can it change, Ben?”

“I never give up hope.”

“I must go.”

“Wait a while.”

“I really shouldn’t have met you here. What about all this talk?”

“What talk?”

“That piece in the paper about you and Lizzie and Grace?”

“Oh that. That was just the enemy getting rattled.”

“Could it spoil your chances?”

“Sensible people will take it for what it is.”

“How does Grace feel about it?”

“Rather put out I’m afraid.”

“It seems … so horrible … just because she helps Lizzie.”

“I know. But most people take it for what it is.”

“So you are going to get in?”

“I hope so.”

“The first step along a dazzling career?”

“That is what you think of me, is it?”

“I know you, Ben.”

“Don’t give up hope, Angel. Something will be done.”

“I must go.”

“I have to get back to Manorleigh this afternoon.”

“I suppose you will be there until the election?”

“It looks like it.”

“Well, good luck, Ben.”

“There is one thing that matters to me more than anything else.”

I smiled at him ruefully and left him.

When I returned to the house Grace was there with my mother.

“I had to come and see you,” she said. “It is just a flying visit.” She smiled at my mother. “I heard you were in London and I told myself I must see you.”

“I was just saying to Grace how nice it is to be here and that I hope she will come to Cornwall when this election is over.”

“Thank you,” said Grace. “I should like to. But you can imagine how it is in Manorleigh just now. There is very little respite.”

“How is Lizzie?” I asked.

“Oh …” She frowned. “She is always tired. She doesn’t really like all this public life.”

“It rust be a terrible trial to her.”

“I help her all I can and she manages.”

“It’s a change from Golden Creek.”

“Indeed yes. I hear you have been doing wonderful things at the Mission. Your mother has been telling me about the poor girl whose stepfather is on trial for murder.”

“It’s a very sad case.”

“And Timothy Ransome has taken her in?”

“He is a wonderful man,” said my mother.

“He must be. And you have just returned from a visit to his place. Frances thinks a great deal of him, I gather. I always admire those people who give up so much of their time to good works.”

“Angelet has been doing her share lately.”

“So I heard. You’re rather friendly with Mr. Ransome, I believe.”

“Oh yes … we’re good friends.”

My mother was smiling a little complacently.

“I am lucky to have this work,” went on Grace. “It’s done a lot for me. I suppose you feel the same about the Mission. It can be lonely for a widow … on her own.”

“Well,” said my mother, “perhaps life will change for both of you.”

I did get a few words alone with Grace before she went.

She said: “Is it true that you are going to marry Timothy Ransome?”

“No. Who told you that?”

“I gathered it from the way they were talking … Amaryllis and your mother. They seemed to think that an engagement was imminent.”

“No … not imminent.”

She nodded. “It’s a big step … marriage. One needs time to consider it particularly when one has already experienced it. You realize how easily things can go wrong. It makes you cautious.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Well, Angelet, I wish you every happiness. I hope it works out well for you. I do know that Timothy Ransome is a very good man. People talk. And … good men are rare.”

Another, I thought, who wants to see me married.

She left that afternoon with Ben and Lizzie for Manorleigh; and the next day my mother went back to Cornwall.

I had just had breakfast and was in the nursery with Rebecca when one of the maids came round with a message from Aunt Amaryllis. Would I go to them at once.

Uncle Peter was there. He was preparing to leave. He looked white-faced and shocked—quite unlike himself.

“Oh, Angelet,” cried Aunt Amaryllis, embracing me, “I wanted to tell you before you heard elsewhere. The papers are full of it. Uncle Peter is going straight away to Manorleigh. He knows Ben will need his support.”

“What is it, Aunt Amaryllis?”

“It’s Lizzie …”

“Lizzie? Is she ill?”

“She’s … dead.”

“Dead!” I cried. “How? Why?”

“It looks like an overdose of laudanum.”

I clutched a chair. I felt I was going to faint.

Aunt Amaryllis was beside me, putting an arm round me.

“I’m sorry. I should have broken it more gently. We’re all so terribly shocked.”

“Tell me. Tell me all about it.”

“They found her … this morning … It was Grace who was the first. She went into her room and found her … dead.”

“Where was Ben?”

“He was in his room, I suppose. They had separate rooms, you know. There was the bottle beside her bed. Poor Lizzie …”

“I’m going down to see what can be done,” said Uncle Peter. “I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”

He left us and Aunt Amaryllis said to me: “I’m going to get you some brandy. You look so shocked.”

“No thanks, Aunt Amaryllis. It’s just …”

“I know how you feel … I do the same. It’s so awful. That poor child … I don’t know what it means.”

She made me drink a little brandy, but I knew that nothing could stop the terrible thoughts which were crowding into my mind.

We sat there. Aunt Amaryllis was talking. Grace had gone in and found her. … Ben had sent a message to his grandfather at once.

“Peter will sort things out,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

How did one sort out death in such circumstances? I wondered. Surely that was beyond even Uncle Peter’s powers.

I don’t remember the next few days in detail. It was like living in a nightmare.

I went back to my house. Morwenna and Justin came to see me.

“This is terrible,” said Morwenna.

“The papers will have a field day,” added Justin.

“Yes,” I said. “They will.”

“This is a little different from the snippets of scandal we’ve had so far,” said Justin. “Is Grace still there?”

“Well, she was with them. She and Lizzie were great friends. She was such a help to her. Oh, poor Lizzie, she never wanted to leave Golden Creek.”

“I wonder if Grace will stay there,” said Justin.

“She’s been helping with the campaign. I suppose that has to go on.”

“It will be a hopeless cause now.”

“You mean …”

“Why, Angelet, you don’t think they would elect a man whose wife has just died in mysterious circumstances?”

“Mysterious circumstances …”

“It will come out at the inquest. No one can say till then. I wonder if Grace will stay. She can’t very well without Lizzie’s being there.”

“What does that matter?” I asked. “Lizzie is dead. I can’t believe it.”

I lived in a daze. There was one thought which kept coming into my mind. It was what Ben had said: “Don’t give up hope. Something will be done.”

Something had been done.

No. I would not believe that of Ben. He was vigorous in his pursuit of what he wanted. He had married for it. Would he murder for it?

There! I had said the word to myself. And now it haunted me and I could not get it out of my mind.

There was great anxiety in the family. We met and talked over the matter. They all said that Lizzie had been taking the drug to help her sleep. Some drugs were dangerous. It was easy to take too much.

Uncle Peter was staying at Manorleigh for the inquest.

We were all waiting for the outcome. That would either still our fears or make them realities.

We did not want to read the papers but we could not stop ourselves. They were full of the case. Everyone was talking of the sudden death of Mrs. Elizabeth Lansdon … wife of one of the candidates in the constituency of Manorleigh. She had been found in her bed by the close friend of herself and her husband … Mrs. Grace Hume, widow of the Crimean hero, grandson of Peter Lansdon the philanthropist. Why did they have to go into those details every time they mentioned them?

There were hints as to what might have happened. Mrs. Elizabeth was shy and retiring; she had given the impression that the life of a successful politician’s wife had little charm for her. It was her friend, Mrs. Grace, who had shone at the meetings; she it was who mingled with the people, kissed the babies and expressed general concern for the welfare of the voters … taking on the work and duties of the candidate’s wife.

Hints … all the time. I was amazed how the press enjoyed the hunt for sensation. They reminded me of a pack of hounds chasing a fox. Ben had angered them. He had been too clever, too successful they hated that. And now was their opportunity to destroy all that success.

We heard the result of the inquest before Uncle Peter came back to tell us about it.

We were all gathered together in the house in the square. Justin and Morwenna were with us. They said they felt like members of the family and wished to share our grief at such a time.

We heard the paper boys crying out in the street. “Inquest Result … Mrs. Lizzie Inquest. Read all about it.”

The papers were brought to us. In thick headlines it read: “Coroner’s Verdict: Accidental Death.”

We all breathed with relief. I was sure the others had feared what I had that it might have been “Murder by some person or persons unknown.”

Uncle Peter returned. Lizzie’s body was to be brought to London and she would be buried in the family vault. He told us all about it.

“What an ordeal! It seems that Lizzie had been in the habit of taking the stuff. It’s a dangerous habit. She should have been stopped. Ben didn’t know about it. That didn’t do him much good. It gave the impression that he was a neglectful husband.

“Grace was put through a lot of questioning. She was the great friend. Yes, she had known about the laudanum. No, she had not thought it necessary to inform Lizzie’s husband. She knew that Lizzie had difficulty in sleeping and was amazed how well and happy she was when she had a good night’s sleep. Grace had thought it was helpful … taken in moderation. She had had no notion that Lizzie might be exceeding the dose. In fact she had thought she took it only rarely. Then she told them how she had gone to see Lizzie that morning. They had already ascertained that Ben and Lizzie did not share a room. They didn’t like that very much. As a matter of fact at this time I was getting a little worried.

“Grace was good. An excellent witness. She said Ben was a kind husband and that Lizzie was very fond of him. The only thing Grace knew of that worried her was having to face people and do what was expected of her … not by her husband. He was always very gentle with her … but by others. Grace had always done her best to help her.

“They asked if Grace was aware of certain remarks which had been made in the press. Grace said she was. And how did they affect her? She ignored them, because they were nonsense and she knew that they were made by people who feared their candidate was not going to win the election. Mr. Lansdon had never behaved in any way which was not in keeping with the conduct of a gentleman and a good and faithful husband.

“Did she think that Lizzie would take an overdose deliberately, knowing the effect it would have? Grace said she was sure she would not. She could have been careless. She could have taken a dose and forgotten she had taken it and then … perhaps sleepily have taken more. She was forgetful. But, they said, she was aware of her inadequacies and worried about them to the extent that they gave her sleepless nights. Grace admitted this was true.

“ ‘In view of this,’ she was asked, ‘having made yourself her protector, did you think it wise for her to have the bottle close to her bed?’

“I must say Grace was magnificent. She was so cool. In my opinion it is she who is really responsible for the verdict. She replied that the idea had not occurred to her until this moment when it had been put into her mind. ‘It would never have occurred to me that Lizzie would think of taking her own life. In my opinion, knowing her well, it could only be that she took the overdose by mistake.’

“And so the verdict. Accidental death.”

The next ordeal was her funeral. She was to be buried in St. Michael’s churchyard, where other members of the London branch of the family were laid to rest. It was a short carriage drive from the house, but because of the publicity which had been given to the case, there were many people besides the family to witness the burial.

Poor Lizzie. She was more famous in death than she would have believed possible.

Ben was there, looking unlike himself, serious and very sad. I wondered if he was reproaching himself for marrying her in the first place and then neglecting her and planning divorce.

Grace was elegant in black, attempting, it seemed, to keep herself aloof. The crowd wanted to see her. I think some of them had made up their minds that she was “the other woman” in the case and for her Ben had murdered his wife. They wanted drama and if it was not there they determined to create.

As the coffin was lowered into the grave someone threw a stone at Ben. It hit him in the back. There was a scuffle, someone was hurried away, and the burial continued.

I watched sadly as I listened to the clods falling on the coffin and I threw down a bunch of asters which I had brought.

We walked away from the grave—Uncle Peter on one side of Ben, Aunt Amaryllis on the other. We went back to Ben’s grand house. It seemed like an empty shell now. We drank sherry and ate ham sandwiches in sorrowful silence.

Grace came and talked to me. She seemed calm.

“I blame myself,” she said. “I should have taken more care of her.”

“Blame yourself! Why, Grace, you were wonderful to her. She relied on you.”

“And I did not see what she was doing.”

Justin came to us.

“It is a relief that this is over,” he said looking at Grace.

She nodded.

“You did well,” he added.

I thought there was a faint hostility between them and for a fleeting moment it occurred to me that Justin may have believed the story that Grace was too friendly with Ben. Then it passed. It was nonsense. I was imagining this.

“I hope so,” said Grace. “It was rather alarming.”

“It must have been,” replied Justin. “Are you going back to Manorleigh?”

“Of course,” said Grace. “How could I not?”

“If you do, it might look as though …”

“Oh, all that nonsense!” said Grace. “Nobody believes that. It’s all party politics.”

“Of course,” said Justin.

Morwenna came over. “Oh dear,” she said. “I do hope Ben is not too depressed by all this.”

“Here he is,” said Grace. “He’ll tell you.”

Ben stood before us and for a few seconds his gaze held mine … at least I suppose it was only for a few seconds. It seemed more and I felt that everyone in that room must be aware of his feelings for me. Then he said: “What am I to tell?”

“I was just saying,” Morwenna explained, “that I hoped you were recovering from this terrible shock.”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I am.”

“Shall you be going back to Manorleigh?” asked Justin.

“Yes … this afternoon. Very shortly, in fact.”

“I suppose it is the best thing … to get on with work.”

“It’s the only thing.”

Again I intercepted his gaze. It was full of pleading. I felt quite unnerved and in that moment I did not know what to believe. I said: “I think Aunt Amaryllis is trying to catch my eye. I had better go and see what she wants.”

It was escape. I felt I might have been acting rather strangely and that Justin, in particular, was aware of it.

I found Aunt Amaryllis. She said to me: “Oh, there you are, dear. You’ll stay, won’t you? Uncle Peter is hoping you will. They will all be gone shortly.”

Uncle Peter came up and pressed my arm.

“I wish Ben could stay a little while,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “It will be awful going back to that place and electioneering after this. Someone was saying it won’t do any good. It will need a miracle for him to get in now.”

“We are good at working miracles in this family,” said Uncle Peter.

“I do hope it works out for him.”

I was glad when it was over. I had a quiet meal with Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis and then Uncle Peter walked me home.

I said to him: “What do you really think about all this, Uncle Peter?”

“I wish to God it hadn’t happened. It’s just the worst time for Ben.”

“Do you think people believe …”

“People like to believe the worst. It is more exciting than the best.”

“What’ll happen?”

“Ben won’t get in this time.”

“It will be a terrible disappointment to him. He has worked so hard.”

“He’ll survive. The luckiest thing is that the verdict was what it was. It might have been very unpleasant. We have to be thankful for that.”

He kissed me good night.

I went into the house but not to sleep.

Uncle Peter was right. There was no miracle, Ben did not win the seat.

Uncle Peter said: “It was hardly likely that he could.”

So there he was … defeated.

I said to myself: At least he is innocent of Lizzie’s death. If he had planned to kill her he would not have done so at such an important time.

I felt relieved at the thought.

Ben came back to London. Grace had now returned to her own home; but she was constantly at one of our houses. She said she would sort out Lizzie’s clothes and send some of them to the Mission. She took them there and had a long talk with Frances. She was becoming very interested in the Mission.

I saw Ben now and then.

Uncle Peter said he was disillusioned and was talking of giving up politics. “It will take him some time to live this down,” said Uncle Peter. “People don’t like this sort of thing to be attached to their Member. They think he should be beyond reproach, not committing the sins of ordinary people.”

I said: “Ben has committed no sin.”

“No, but his wife died in mysterious circumstances. They’ll reckon that, even if he didn’t murder her, she took her own life. They’ll say, Why was she so bemused as to take an overdose? It must be because she had an unsatisfactory home life. Constituents do not like their Members to have unsatisfactory home lives.”

Uncle Peter thought he should face it and not show himself to be in the least put out by failure. Perhaps next election they would give him a constituency up North where the people might be less aware of what happened.

Aunt Amaryllis did not give dinner parties for a while. The family was in mourning. But she did gather us all together though; and when she did, Grace, Morwenna and Justin were often of the party.

“I look upon you, my dears, as members of the family,” she told Morwenna and Justin. “I really don’t want strangers at such a time.”

So I saw Ben often. We talked a little, in snatches and quietly because usually there were others in the room. These conversations normally took place after dinner or just before while we were waiting to go to the table.

I asked him if he felt badly about the election and he said he had expected it would go that way.

“After all your work, Ben!”

“In politics or in life for that matter, everything can change in a week. I knew as soon as it happened that I was sunk.”

“You will fight again?”

“I expect so. But it takes a long time for them to forget.”

“By the next election perhaps?”

“Then there will be someone to bring it up … refurbish it … dress it up as new, I daresay. It will cling, Angelet. I wish I could have done something. It was my fault. I just ignored her. I should have explained. It is too late now.”

“Time will pass and it will be better.”

“I keep thinking that all the time. Then we can start again … you and I.”

“I couldn’t talk about that now, Ben.”

“Perhaps not … but later.”

Grace came over to us.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” she said brightly.

“Oh no,” I told her.

“You seemed in deep conversation.”

“No … we were just talking … idly …”

I looked up and saw Justin. He was looking at us very intently. I smiled and he came over; and the conversation turned to generalities.

The next morning to my surprise Justin called. He was carrying a small parcel.

I wondered why he had come so early in the morning. We were in the sitting room—just the two of us.

He said: “I wanted to see you rather specially, Angelet.”

“Yes, Justin, is something wrong?”

“No … not just now.”

“You mean something might be? Morwenna?”

“No, not Morwenna. She doesn’t know I’ve come.”

“You are being very mysterious, Justin.”

“I don’t know how to say this or where to begin. It’s just a hunch I have. It’s just something I feel you ought to know. I never thought to tell you … or anyone … but since Gervaise did what he did for me … at such a time when we were not even friends … I have felt I owed you something. I’ve wanted to look after you for his sake. I’m not a very admirable character, as you know, but I really think that changed me. It’s because of that …”

“Justin, this is getting more and more mysterious. Why don’t you say it outright?”

“I will. But first I want you to read this. Then … when you’ve read it, I’ll talk to you.”

He put the package into my hands. “What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a diary. I’ve had it for some time. Read it … and when you have read it, we must meet again and I will tell you what I am afraid of. You wouldn’t believe me … until you read that and then I think you would understand a good deal.”

“A diary? Whose?”

“Angelet, I must ask you not to show it to anyone. Will you promise?”

“Of course, but …”

“Take it to your room. Wait till tonight. Read it when you are quite alone. That is very important,”

“I am very puzzled, Justin.”

“I know. But just do as I say. Take it straight to your room. Lock it away and when you retire tonight and can be sure of being quite alone, read it … and when you have read it I will come and see you and tell you why I am behaving in such an extraordinary way.”

“Why can’t I look at it now?”

“Someone might come in. You would be interrupted. Please, do as I say. Promise me, Angelet.”

“All right. I’ll promise.”

“Thank you. I’ll go now. I’ll come tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

Then he left.

I looked at the parcel and was greatly tempted to open it, but having given my promise I took it to my room and locked it in a drawer.

Really Justin was behaving in a very odd manner.

I retired early that night and as soon as I was alone I unlocked the drawer and took out the package. Stripping off the paper I found a diary. I glanced at the dates at the top of each entry and the small neat handwriting.

I undressed, got into bed, and began to read.

On the flyleaf was an inscription: “For Mina with love from Mother.”

Mina presumably was the owner of the diary.

January 1st: I found this diary when I was getting ready to leave, and I remembered that last Christmas Mother had given it to me. She had said: “Write in it, Mina.” Then you can look back on your life at this time in years to come and it will seem as though it is happening to you now.” I thought I would, but I didn’t. And now she is dead and I have to leave here and start a new life. I think it might be interesting. What to write about is difficult to know. So much will be just not worth recording. I shall see how it goes. This is my first entry and it seems I am telling myself things I already know. I don’t suppose I shall continue. I am just starting because it is all new and I am leaving here and have to earn my own living. Mother never wanted that, but the little she was able to leave is not really enough to live on. I don’t want to scrimp and scrape all my life. Besides, what would ever happen to me here? I had to take this job with the Bonners, for the only thing a woman can do when she has to earn a living and she is in my position, is to be a governess. I shall look upon it as an adventure and if it is intolerable I shall not be completely penniless. I can look for something else. So this is a start.

The next entry was a week later.

January 8th: Something worth writing. Here I am installed in Crompton Hall, Crompton, near Bodmin, Cornwall … a rather eerie sort of place and the Bonners are rather impossible. But they amuse us … Mervyn and me. I suppose I ought to record our meeting. I thought it was a coincidence at first that we should meet on the way to the Bonners’ but as we were traveling on the same day it was quite natural that we should meet, because the little branch railway line is not used by many people. It is more like a toy railway than a real one—though it is the pride of the local inhabitants’ lives. It was snowing when I boarded the little train. There were only three other passengers. It was late because the main line train had been delayed. The little train was waiting for its arrival, I was told. Two of the passengers were a middle-aged couple; Mervyn was the other. I liked him from the moment I saw him. He helped me with my bags and soon we were facing each other in the carriage. I remember the conversation:

“What a day for a journey!”

“It is winter.”

“Still, it could have been better than this. Are you going to Crompton?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. I was wondering if I should be met.”

“You are staying there, are you?”

“I’m going as governess … to Crompton Hall.”

He started to laugh. He had beautiful white teeth.

“I’m going to Crompton Hall … as tutor.”

We stared at each other in disbelief.

I thought: Now this is something to put into the diary.

That journey was quite exciting. It was long because there were so many delays on the line. I didn’t mind in the least. I wanted it to go on and on. He told me about himself. He was alone in the world—no parents. They had spent all they had on educating him and now here he was forced to earn a living and fully equipped to take the post of tutor to “a young gentleman in the country”—“as he was described to me,” he said.

I told him I had nursed my widowed mother for years—I being the only child. She had had an annuity which had made living comfortable enough, but when she had died there was little else. Like him, I had received a good education so I was equipped to be a governess to “a young lady in the country.”

By the time we had arrived at Crompton we were good friends and much of the apprehension I had been feeling was gone as we mounted the dogcart sent by our obliging employers; and we were conducted to Crompton Hall.

The next entry was:

February 3rd: Mother would scold me if she knew I had neglected my diary. She herself had been a great diarist, but when I looked over it after her death all it contained were things like: “Not so well today,” or “Poured with rain all morning.” I thought that such details were not really worth recording. In this book I shall write only what I feel to be significant in my life. And I feel it is beginning to be fraught with significance.

It is all due to Mervyn. How lucky I am that we should be here together. Even during our meeting on the train I felt this and so did he, I believe. We could laugh together over our employers. The Bonners were not Cornish. They had settled here only about five years before, and they were regarded as foreigners in the community, although they did not seem aware of it.

They think they are the lords of the manor. They don’t seem to understand that to be regarded as such they would have had to live here for at least a hundred years. The servants despise them; so do the villagers. The Bonners are not gentry and there are no snobs like their kind. They are accepted by the doctor and the solicitor, the neighboring squires and of course the vicar: “dear bumbling old Rev,” as Mervyn calls him. “He is the good shepherd and we are all his sheep, old and young, poor and nouveau riche.” We have a lot of fun laughing at them all. The children are nonentities. They have to remember that they are a lady and a gentleman now with a tutor for Master Paul and a governess for Miss Jennifer. “How many families run to that!” as my employer would say. “Most of them would have only one for the two, but brass is meant to be spent to get the best for the family.” That is Squire Bonner’s policy; and it suits me very well for it brings Mervyn and me close together.

Mervyn has convinced the Bonners that the children should ride. It is part of their education. He is wonderful on a horse. I never rode much. I didn’t have the opportunity. He is determined to teach me. He takes me out with the children, of course, and as Master Paul and Miss Jennifer enjoy that, Bonner mère and père think it is a good thing. They are fast climbing up the social ladder and the saddle is yet another step.

The reason I am writing today is because silly little Gwennie Talbot said to me: “I think the tutor be sweet on ’ee, Miss.”

I blushed which made her titter and I pretended to be annoyed. I said: “Don’t be impertinent, Gwennie.” But I was pleased. People are noticing. So that seemed worthy of an entry in my diary.

March 1st: I really am no diarist. It is only rarely that the urge comes over me to write. I suppose life has been going on in the same way all these weeks. But I have never been so happy and it is wonderful and all due to Mervyn. Each day I get up with a feeling of exhilaration. It is love, I suppose, and what is so exciting is that we are both under the same roof.

We are sometimes invited to dine at the Bonner table—the reason being that they are short of guests and we are educated—far better than our employers, I am glad to say—and we are of use to make up the numbers. This amuses us. Mervyn always has a great deal to say about the people who visit us. He is observant of human nature and can be so amusing in a wicked sort of way. I tell him he is very cruel.

A few evenings ago the vicar came and brought with him some connection of his family—not a nephew—farther away than that … a sort of second cousin, I imagine. The young man, it seemed, was a ne’er-do-well. He was rather good-looking … quite handsome in fact. His name is Justin Cartwright.

When I read that I started. It was like a physical blow.

Justin! Then something else struck me. What was the name of the man we had thrown into the pool? Mervyn Duncarry. Mervyn was not a very common name. I had been wondering why Justin had thought it necessary for me to read the diary of a strange young woman named Mina. This was now taking on some significance.

I returned to the book.

He is staying with the vicar. I think he may have been in some sort of trouble. I quite like him. So does Mervyn.

March 6th: The greatest day of my life. Mervyn told me he loved me. We shall get married one day. But it is not easy for a tutor and a governess. But still … all that is to be considered later. We shall have to make plans. I am quite blissful and can think of nothing else.

March 30th: Today we rode into Bodmin. We made the excuse that we had to get some books for the children’s lessons and they were left in the charge of servants so we had the day to ourselves.

I have never been so happy before. I laughed when I remembered how apprehensive I had been about coming to this place and when I think of the happiness it has brought me, from the moment I stepped into that little branch line train, I cannot believe my good fortune.

“We are going to buy a ring,” said Mervyn. “It’s a pledge.”

“I want to buy a ring for you,” I replied. “There shall be one each.”

“Have you got the money?”

“Not much.”

“Nor I.”

We rode into Bodmin and left the horses at an inn where we had a glass of cider and a sandwich. Even the most ordinary food tastes like ambrosia when one is in the state I am in. We went to look in a jeweler’s shop. It had to be gold. The prices were beyond us. Then I had this idea. Why didn’t we buy one ring. He could wear it one week and I another. We hugged each other. So we went in and bought a gold signet ring which we could just manage with our combined money and we had our initials engraved inside: M.D. for him and W.B. for me.

I felt sick. I saw it again. The pool from which I could never escape. The ring I had found. I had given it to Grace and she had flung it into the sea.

“Wilhelmina,” he said, for he always calls me by my full name. He said it sounds important. Wilhelmina is grand. Mina is just ordinary. “Wilhelmina, with this ring I make you mine for as long as we both shall live.” I was so happy. I had never dreamed there could be such happiness. How we laughed over the ring. It was big for me. I could only wear it on my forefinger; and it went onto his little finger. We would later carry out our first intention. There should be two rings—one for him and one for me … and we should always wear them because of what they meant to us.

April 5th: I suppose one cannot exist forever on the top pinnacle of happiness. I understand how Mervyn feels. Perhaps I shall give way … in time. But I can’t just … lightly forget my upbringing, I suppose.

My mother and I were very close to each other, and although when she was so ill I sometimes lost patience with her, that did not mean that I did not love her very much. I always thought of her so wise. And she used to say, “A bride should go to her husband a virgin. I did, Mina; and I know it will be the same with you. It must be. I could never rest happy if it were not so. It is a sin, Mina.” I had said, Yes, it was and I promised her that I would be pure and virginal until my wedding day. It must have been in both our minds that living as I did it was hardly likely that there would be a wedding day, so it had been easy for me to give that promise. But now Mervyn was urging me. He seemed to have changed. He was fierce … even angry. He wanted to come to my room at night. My room was next to Jennifer’s. I wondered what would have happened if she had awakened in the night and come to me for something, which she might well do. I imagined being dismissed with ignominy … both of us. I was sure the Bonners would take a very virtuous stance in such matters.

So I said: “No. We must wait until we are married.”

“When will that be,” demanded Mervyn, “in the position we are in?”

“I thought we should wait. Make plans. Even tell the Bonners. They might allow us to continue working after we were married.”

He said he did not think they would. Nor did we want to be here all our lives.

“What else could we do?” I asked.

“We could get away from here … to a little place of our own.”

“And do what? We couldn’t live on my income.”

“We’ll do something. In the meantime … I want you, Wilhelmina. This is torment for me … being under the same roof.”

I should have been delighted that he cared so much, but there was the ghost of my mother and my puritanical upbringing holding me back. I wanted to give way, yet I was afraid and I felt I should never be quite happy if I did. Mervyn was so angry. I had never seen him so angry before. He was a different man.

April 15th: There is a rift between us. Sometimes Mervyn will take me so tightly in his arms that I could cry out with the pain of it. I am a little afraid. He looks so fierce and angry and different. I almost give way … and then I see my mother and I am afraid. She had talked to me about deserted women and unwanted babies. She said, “You see, they believe in these protestations of eternal love. And then they find they have been tricked.”

I can’t believe Mervyn would trick me. We truly love each other. I was wearing the ring all last week. He has it now. He was quite violent this evening. I was so upset. It was after dinner. He was with me when I was going up the stairs. He began urging me … even more insistently than usual.

I said: “Don’t talk so loudly. Someone will hear.” He threw me from him. I almost fell. Then I ran up to my room. I think if he had come after me I might have given way. But he did not come. Later I heard him leave the house. I am realizing that I am a little frightened of him. I did not know that he could be so vehement. He is like a different man.

I could not sleep. So I am writing in my diary.

April 16th: This is terrible. Everything I have dreamed of is gone like a soap bubble which the children blow with their clay pipes. I did not hear him come in last night though I sat for a long time at my window. I cannot believe I dozed. I was so upset. I kept going over that scene. I kept saying to myself, It is because he loves me so much. This morning he was very subdued. His eyes were shadowed.

He said to me: “I’m sorry, Wilhelmina.”

I said: “It’s all right. I understand. Let’s get married … no matter what we have to arrange afterwards.”

“Let’s do that,” he said. “Oh, God, Wilhelmina, if only we can get away from this to a life of our own. We’ll do anything. We’ll make plans right away.”

I was happy again. He understood. Everything would be perfect.

April 16th, afternoon: Two of the village children playing in the woods found the body. It was a girl aged about ten years—one of the children from the village. She had been sexually assaulted and strangled. I was very shocked of course. I didn’t realize then that it was anything to do with us, until they came to the house asking questions.

Mervyn knocked on the door of my room. He said, “I want to get away. I can’t stay.”

I was astonished. “Why not?” I said.

“It is necessary,” he said. “I can’t stay.” His eyes were wild. He had that mad look again.

Gwennie was at the door. She said: “They want you to go down to the drawing room, Mr. Duncarry.”

April 16th, evening: I cannot believe it. They have taken him away. Someone saw him coming from the woods last night and they have found a bloodstained jacket in his room. So … they have taken him away.

April 20th: I have not been able to write since. There is a black pall over everything. They are holding him on suspicion. Mrs. Bonner goes round bleating about the dangers. They had him in their house! We might all have been murdered in our beds … and when she thought of her daughter she was so overcome with fear and relief that they had him under lock and key.

I was bitter. I have tried not to believe it. But I do. I know it is true. I have dreamed a wild, impossible dream. Life could never be as good to me as I had for a brief while thought it might. When had I ever had good luck? I was bitter and angry with life. I had lost my lover. Suppose I had given way … he would never have come upon that child … he would never have felt that overwhelming lust which made him forget everything but that he must satisfy it. But there would have been other times perhaps … How could Mervyn do that? But what did we know of people … ordinary people who can suddenly turn into monsters of depravity driven by some incomprehensible sexual urge?

April 30th: I love him and I have discovered that whatever he has done, I love him. I will take care of him in future … if he comes out of this. But how can he come out of it? They will find him guilty. They will hang him. I shall have lost my lover forever. I believe I can help him. I believe I can save him. I could reason with him. I could make him explain to me. What I want more than anything is a chance to do this, to bring him back to a normal life, to do the things we planned to do before this happened. How could such a man as Mervyn … so amusing, so charming … behave like that? How could he suddenly change? It must have been a brain storm … a momentary attack … like an illness. And I had refused him … and because of that … Oh, I could cure him, I know I could.

May 1st: The papers are full of it. They all write of him with hatred. I cannot stay here. I told Mrs. Bonner that I was too shocked. I had regarded him as a friend. For once she understood. I said I had to get away. I gave her my notice. I would leave in a month. She would find someone else. It had been a terrible blow. She would never have another tutor. She would have a governess for both of the children. If I cared to take that on … I said, “No, I must get away.” I do not know what I shall do.

May 13th: He is going on trial for murder. It is a foregone conclusion. They have already proved his guilt. The papers have raked over his past and found that he was involved in another inquiry concerning the death of a girl in similar circumstances. Nothing was proved against him and he had gone free. If he had not, suggested the paper, would little Carrie Carson be alive today? He will die and that is more than I can bear. They are going to allow me to see him.

May 20th: I have been to Bodmin Jail. It was not easy to talk to him. There were people watching all the time. He talked in a low voice.

He said: “Help me. I’ll get away before the trial … We’ll be together ever after … We’ll get out of the country. Bring me something … a knife … bring me a knife … I’ll fight my way out. We’ll go away. Think about it. I love you, Wilhelmina, I’ll always love you.”

I said: “I’ll always love you, Mervyn.”

May 29th: Tomorrow I am leaving. I have made my plans. I shall get down to the coast. I think it would be a good idea to get a post not far from the prison. I shall be able to see him and tell him where. I am quite excited. I am making all sorts of plans. I am glad I kept this dairy. I shall always know how I felt … at the beginning … during those wonderful, wonderful days. It is something I shall want to live through again and again. I have seen clearly that I love Mervyn no matter what he has done. I suppose that is true love. I cannot lose him. I shall do everything I can to help him escape from prison and when he does he will know how much I love him. It will show him more than anything else ever could. I will cure him. I will. I know I can. I know he is not evil … deep down. People in the past were possessed by devils. That is what has happened to Mervyn. I am going to look after him. I am going to make him the man he was intended to be and we shall live happily ever after somewhere right away … perhaps out of England and in time we shall forget all this.

There the diary ended.

I was very thoughtful. I slept little that night. I could scarcely wait for Justin to call next morning.

He came as he had said he would.

“Why did you give me this to read?” I asked.

“Because I thought you might be in danger.”

“This diary …”

“I must explain. I was passing the house when she was leaving. I went to say goodbye to her. She shook hands with me and said she wanted to get away after all that had happened. She looked ill and shocked. I had guessed there was something between her and that man. She was getting her bags into the dogcart. No one was helping her so I gave a hand. When she had gone, I found the diary lying at my feet. It had evidently fallen from one of her bags. I picked it up and looked at it. I saw what it contained and decided I would keep it. You’ve guessed who she is?”

I nodded. “Grace,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“I remember how you spoke to us in the park when you called her Wilhelmina Burns.”

He looked at me very seriously for a few seconds. “It has cost me a great deal to tell you this,” he said. “I am afraid I don’t come out in a very good light. I wouldn’t like Morwenna to know. I do trust you. You never told about my cheating at cards.”

“What good would that do? It would only hurt her.”

“Thanks, Angelet. I’ll make a clean confession. I was living by the cards.”

“Cheating at them, you mean?”

“Winning eighty per cent of the time. One lost a little to win confidence.”

“I see. It was a profession with you.”

“I was the ne’er-do-well relation of the vicar of Crompton. I used to go round visiting houses like that once, but there comes an end to that sort of thing. So I came to London. Then I saw Wilhelmina in the park. I recognized her at once. Of course, she was living under a different name. Miss Grace Gilmore. I think her name had been mentioned once or twice in the papers when there were a few details about the house where Mervyn Duncarry was working. She obviously did not want to be connected with that. Well, I met her in the park. I told her I had the diary. She was very upset. I asked her about you and Morwenna. The truth is I blackmailed her. I knew her connection with the murderer. He’d got away … and she had helped him. She was very frightened and I was getting tired of the life I was living. One slip and you are finished forever … blackballed from all the London clubs. It hadn’t happened but it was always a possibility. I wanted a more secure living. Marriage with an heiress seemed a good plan. She told me about Morwenna’s parents and her unsuccessful season. I liked Morwenna from the start, I really did. It was easy to see she was innocent … gullible.

“Oh, how could you!” I cried.

“I’ll make no excuses. I was like that. But let me tell you this, Angelet, I’m changing. I want to be different … respectable … I want to be what Morwenna thinks I am. And then there is the boy.”

“So that little incident … the boy with the purse … that was arranged?”

He nodded.

“And then your courtship? The elopement?”

He nodded again.

“I suppose you thought an elopement was the best way. Once you were actually married they would have to accept you. You didn’t want long preliminaries which might result in inquiries.”

“I know I’m unworthy but I swear to you that I love Morwenna and the boy. I’m trying, Angelet. I haven’t touched the cards … well only once or twice … since that showdown with Gervaise. But I am changing. I’m different. I like my work. I like my parents-in-law. I want to be a good husband and father. Morwenna thinks I am that already … so perhaps I’m almost there.”

“I think you are, Justin. You must forget the card sharping. It won’t do any good for anyone to know about it.”

“That’s what I think. I want to forget my past. I’m trying and I want to be what Morwenna thinks I always have been.”

“And what of Grace … Wilhelmina …”

“She’s a strong woman.”

“Why did you show me the diary?” I asked. “Why didn’t you give it back to her? What has she done? I’ve read it. All she did was love this man.”

“Why did she change her name?”

“Because she wanted to get away from all that.”

“She settled in I gathered and beguiled you all. She went to the Crimea.”

“She was a nurse. I have the utmost admiration for those women.”

“She went out to marry rich Jonnie and she came back comfortably off.”

“It was a legal marriage. Uncle Peter checked on that. There is no reason why she should not forget her past … as you will.”

“They discovered the body of that man in the pool, remember?”

“I do remember,” I said vehemently.

“How did he get there? How did he die? It was so near the place where she was staying.”

I did not answer.

He went on: “Enough of him. He’s out of the picture. She’s a clever woman … a scheming woman. She has some money now … not as much as she would like. She is looking for a rich husband. She wants to be a social hostess. I can see it clearly … I was interested in her the moment I saw her. You know whom she has her eyes on now, don’t you?”

“Whom?” I asked faintly.

“Ben Lansdon.” He looked at me ironically. “I’ve observed a lot. One has to in the card business. You have to know how people react and you play accordingly. I’ll tell you what I know about Ben Lansdon.”

“What?”

“That he is interested in someone else.”

“Who?”

“I think you know. Hasn’t he told you? He’s obsessed by you … and his wife takes an overdose …”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That I don’t think she took it herself.”

“Oh … no!”

“Simply that it was given to her. She was inconvenient.”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this, Justin. It’s pure supposition. It’s unfair. You don’t know anything.”

“I think she was murdered.”

“No … no. It was accidental. The verdict …”

“Verdicts are not always the truth.”

“Justin, what are you leading to?”

“That two people might have killed her. One, her husband who is in love with another woman and who must have found her a great encumbrance. Two, the other woman who had plans to marry her husband.”

“I think this is nonsense.”

“It might not be. I don’t think Ben Lansdon would commit murder. He’s too clever for that. He wouldn’t hate her. He wouldn’t hate anyone to that extent. He is one of those men whose conduct is not always exemplary—like my own—but they can be a little more kindly than the wholly virtuous sometimes are. He didn’t want Lizzie as a wife, but he had an affection for her. That was clear to me. But what of Wilhelmina/Grace? Now that is another matter. She has been ingratiating herself with the family, hasn’t she? I can tell you how desperately she wants to be Mrs. Benedict Lansdon.”

“What you are saying is horrible. Grace … a murderess! I won’t believe it.”

“Of course, I might be wrong. But I just wanted to warn you. You see, you are next in line of fire. You can be sure Wilhelmina knows of Ben’s feelings for you. And if you were not there, in a little while … well, she was wonderful to Lizzie, wasn’t she? He would appreciate all the help she gave him at the election. She’s clever. If she hadn’t such a rival, she could have a good chance of success.”

“It’s nonsense, Justin.”

“Maybe, but it is a possibility. That was why I wanted you to see the diary … because you should realize you are dealing with a woman of some purpose. She is strong. She manipulates. And Lizzie died so conveniently.”

“But why would she have killed her then? It spoilt his chances at the election.”

“People like Wilhelmina take the long view. If the moment was ripe … she would seize it. This is conjecture, true. But I tell you because I think you ought to know.”

“I suppose I must say Thank you, Justin. But I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.”

He bowed his head and lifted his shoulders.

“I’ve done my best,” he said.